


Steady

by Sapphicsarah



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9088126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphicsarah/pseuds/Sapphicsarah
Summary: Bernie holds Serena until her heart is slow and steady.Berena ficlets!





	1. Steady

The patient is a young woman who was knocked down by a car in the rain, the pavement dark and sleek with ice. Her hair is as red as a vibrant sunrise and Serena has one hand inside her, cradling the heart, urging it to beat once more.

This morning Serena had found a grey hair on her head. She had been dying her hair for a few years and the grey had never bothered her before. It had simply been a symbol of time, her body changing with the years, nothing more. But this morning she had panicked, the hair a betrayal, cruel and vicious.

 _Come on_ she thinks, as she continues the cardiac massage. The woman on the table is so very young. No more than twenty, Serena guesses. It frightens her. _There is so much yet to come_ , Serena tells her silently. She had not met Bernie until she was fifty one. And there it is; the thought that followed her all day, ever since she found that hair in the early hours.

We are supposed to have a lifetime together.

All the stories, the fairytales, the films, and the legends and myths promise true love to be a lifelong thing. Serena knows she and Bernie will only have a few decades at best. _It is not fair._ They had waited so long, been so many different people, and here they were, in the murky middle of the journey as their bodies were changing. Serena’s knees creak and Bernie’s back aches in the cold, the ghost of her mother’s dementia haunts her, and the days and months fly by. Their time together is so precious, and so much was wasted on doubts and fears. How freeing to finally love and be loved so whole heartedly, with no judgment or fear.  

Serena’s heart does not flutter when Bernie walks in a room. Rather, it slows, goes steady and strong. Bernie is her rock, the person who calms her. When she has a tough day Bernie is there with wine in her hand and an understanding ear. Sometimes Serena cries. “Hold me,” she whispers. Bernie comes quickly, gently, wraps her arms around her, keeps her warm and safe, and kisses away her tears. She tucks the stray hair behind Serena’s ear, whispers that she loves her. Holds her again, until Serena feels a little better, until her heart is slow and steady.

Serena knows that the years will pass, will slip through her fingers like sand falling to rest on the bottom of an hourglass. The passing of time is inevitable, slow, and then all of a sudden quick and gone. _Come back_ , Serena urges the patient, whose red hair is still damp from the rain outside. _You need to come back._

Bernie is working as fast as she can, clamps and sutures, and muttered exchanges with the nurse as Serena pumps the young woman’s heart. They do not even know her name. The monitors beep softly in time with Serena’s pulses, a quiet drum in the hushed theatre. Bernie and Serena are faceless figures in sterile gowns of blue, working tirelessly, tearing her back from the brink. It takes hours and hours, but she arrives. She comes back from that unknown precipice and her heart beats again in Serena’s hands, the muscle saved and living again.

When it is all over Serena collapses at the edge of the empty room. Her hands are covered in blood and she feels torn apart as she removes the gloves. Bernie quickly moves over to her, crouches down by her side, her own gown stained red.

“We saved her Serena,” she whispers. When Serena does not answer she tries again. “My darling, it’s alright.”

Bernie rarely calls her ‘darling’, the endearment is treasured and almost holy, whispered with such care and adoration and love.

“I know,” Serena breaths, as she looks up at the ceiling, trying to hold back tears.

Bernie settles on the floor beside her, their positions echoing how it all began. She sits silently, patiently waiting for Serena, giving her time to gather herself. Serena sniffles, her chest heavy with the confrontation of her own mortality, of the fleeting nature of life. It was a fact she was all too aware of, but sometimes it hits her, goes through her and seeps everywhere, that she will leave one day, or that Bernie will go, that they will be without one another.

It frightens her, that her happiness has become so dependent upon another person. Serena had always prided herself on being independent. But here she is, crying on the theatre floor at the mere thought of separation. Her mind wanders to that film Bernie loves so much, the one where two people meet on a boat and the woman looks out into the sea and says that winter must be cold for those with no warm memories. _We’ve already missed the spring._

“What would make you feel better?”

It is a peace offering, a lifeline, a beacon of light in the darkness. _Come back_ , Bernie says. So Serena returns. She turns to Bernie and murmurs. “Hold me.”

Bernie moves closer and wraps her arms around her, rests her forehead on Serena’s, whispers she loves her, and kisses away the tracks of tears on her cheek. Serena nuzzles her nose into Bernie’s firm shoulder, seeking her strength, her calmness. They stay like this, pressed together and breathing in and out, until Serena’s heart is slow and steady once more.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The film Serena references is An Affair To Remember


	2. Five More Minutes

 

She says it in Albie’s when Jason is anxious to leave for fish and chips.

“Oh five more minutes,” she says before turning to look over her wine glass at Bernie. She promises Jason a pickled egg and a giant gherkin. She would promise him anything if it means they can stay for five more minutes. If it means Bernie looking at her like that for a little while longer.

She says it on AAU when Bernie offers her a lift home. They are friends now, and Serena realizes one day in theatre that Bernie is her best friend.

“Just give me five more minutes. I’ve got to finish this note and I’ll be ready.”

“Not a problem,” Bernie murmurs in that quiet voice she uses when they are alone.

Bernie sits in the chair next to Serena’s desk with her pink coat in her lap. Serena feels her watching as she types at her computer, but she does not look over until she is done. She feels Bernie’s hand ghost along her lower back as they walk through the car park.

When Bernie comes back from Ukraine they kiss in their office with the blinds closed. Serena keeps trying to pull her closer. They are up against the wall, breathing hard and fast, and Serena feels as if she may die from the wanting.

When Bernie pulls away slightly Serena yanks her back until their hips are pressed together once more. “Five more minutes,” she whispers onto Bernie’s lips.

“You said that five minutes ago,” Bernie whispers back with a smile. Bernie kisses her again.

Serena says it in the bath, with Bernie’s back pressed to her front. The frothy bubbles are everywhere and some have spilled over and onto the tiled floor. White candles flicker on the window sill and soft rain falls outside. Glasses of Shiraz sit forgotten by the sink.

Bernie moves to get out and Serena gently pulls her back.

“Five more minutes.”

“I’m all pruney Serena!”

“Don’t care. I like it.”

Bernie giggles and settles back down, sighing as Serena wraps her hands around her waist. Serena drops a quick kiss to Bernie’s temple and lets the warm water soak them for a little while longer.

Serena says it in the door to Elinor’s bedroom as she watches her sleep. It is the first night she is home after the accident.

“Are you coming to bed Serena?”

Serena turns to Bernie and says it softly. “I just need five more minutes. Then I’ll be in.”

“She’ll be okay,” Bernie whispers, placing a hand on Serena’s shoulder. Serena places her hand over Bernie’s and squeezes gently in response. Her eyes return to Elinor’s sleeping form.

She does not say it one morning a year later, when all is settled and Elinor is well again. Bernie is rising to go to work in the spring air and Serena snags her hand and pulls her back into the warm bed.

“Stay?”

Bernie turns around and lies next to her once more. She places her forehead on Serena’s. “For five more minutes?”

Serena shakes her head. “Stay forever.”

Bernie smiles and kisses Serena’s nose. “Forever is an awful long time you know, in theory.”

“Good,” Serena whispers back. The birds begin to sing outside the bedroom window and the sun rises. Bernie stays in the bed with Serena. The day can wait for five more minutes.

 

 

 


	3. The house

  
Elinor graduates from university and the house is like a florists.

There are Queen Anne’s lace and wild flowers in a glass vase on the coffee table. Daisies sit on the mantle, roses by the kitchen sink, tulips on the window sill in the study. Serena kidnaps the lilacs and places them on her bedside table.

White hydrangeas have invaded the nook near the back door. They are starting to look a bit tired, wilting above the pile of shoes on the floor. Bernie finds three faded petals in her ankle boots. She takes them out, cradles them in her hand, then hurriedly places them in her coat pocket. They stay there forgotten, until she searches for her keys as she walks to the car after a long shift. Her fingers brush them slightly, the petals smooth and soft to the touch. Bernie smiles as she starts the car, the petals in her lap.

Bernie comes into the house and realizes that the house is starting to truly feel like home.

She has lived there for a year, ever since Elinor’s accident. But it’s just finally starting to feel like hers too. Marcus had never been adept at making space for her when she was home from tour. It was always a bit off; her things were in the way, her scrambled eggs weren’t the way the kids liked it, her voices were all wrong when she read a bedtime story. She was just a visitor, a temporary lodger in the house, an inconvenience.

When she moved into Serena’s house she feared it would be the same. But her clothes hang side by side with Serena’s. Her shampoo is no loner travel size and has its own spot in the shower. Framed pictures of her children are throughout the house, hanging next to pictures of Jason and Elinor. A family photo of all of them together is set in a silver frame above the fireplace. Bernie’s favorite novels are in alphabetical order on the shelf, and her grandmother’s copy of The Joy of Cooking is open constantly, the paper faded and delicate from time and use.

Serena is using it now. She is bent over the book and wearing a blue apron, her fingers running across the page of the recipe. A bottle of wine is on the island next to a rolling pin, and flour is dusted across the counter. Gentle music plays and Serena is humming along.

Serena looks up and smiles at Bernie in the doorway.

“Our home is like a florists,” Bernie says in greeting.

“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Serena turns to look at the pink roses next to the sink. When she looks back Bernie feels a little softer, that warm and smooth sensation of petals on fingertips seeping through her, going to her heart.

Serena sees it and comes around the island to kiss her softly. “You glad to be home?”

Bernie sighs and pulls her closer, goes for another quick kiss on the lips, then simply pulls her closer still.

She loves the house. She loves the four walls, the slanting roof, and the little garden with two wooden bird-feeders. But the house is not really her home.

Serena is home.

“Yes,” she whispers into Serena’s hair. “It’s good to be home.”

 


	4. Nicknames

 

Bernie loves Serena’s voice, finds it endlessly fascinating. It is one of the first things that attracts her to the other surgeon. The tone and pitch have infinite variability, and the sound can be as soft as a whisper, or as hard as iron. Bernie likes Serena’s voice best when she is saying Bernie’s name, or at least a variation. Bernie has always been called Bernie, never Berenice. The army had been full to the brim with nicknames, and some had stuck, some hadn’t. She was called Soldier, Bern, Major, or Doc. Now she is simply “Bernie.”

Then, she is “Big Macho Army Medic.” This nickname sticks. It echoes throughout the ward, whispered by F-1’s, murmured by porters, used as a private joke by Serena. She says it first when they arm wrestle in their office, then again when Bernie offers to carry a load of groceries from the car and into Serena’s kitchen, and once more when she lifts Serena onto the kitchen counter for the first time.

Serena gives a speech at work. It’s a bit Nurembergy. They start to call each other “ Fräulein”, and Bernie loves the little smile Serena has whenever she is about to say a new phrase in German. Serena has a gift for languages, and she comes to stand next to Bernie at the nurse’s station. She says something soft into Bernie’s ear, the words clipped and foreign. Bernie looks it up in the dictionary, uses Google Translate to come up with a response.  At times, it takes the whole shift for Bernie to decipher the message. Other times she convinces Serena to translate in the stairwell, Bernie’s lips on her neck and a hand up her blouse.

Sometimes they argue. Serena can be a bit controlling on the ward, a little overbearing at home. Bernie mutters “Nurembergy Campbell” under her breath. Serena glares.

But Bernie’s favorite endearment is one that Serena rarely uses. She only says it when she is distracted, tired, or both. Serena loves to whisper it when they are in bed, legs tangled, and fingers intertwined. Serena lets it slip one day in theatre, when they have worked long into the night, long after their shift was supposed to end. There was an RTC with multiple victims, broken and bloody and vicious. They save them all, but it is slow going. It is nearly dawn and Serena is suturing. She murmurs into the silent theatre.

“Darling, could you stitch the other side for me?”

Bernie goes still, and after a moment Serena looks up at her stillness.

Suddenly, her eyes go wide below her leopard-print surgical cap, and she turns to the nurse before clearing her throat. Serena is blushing.

“Of course, Miss Campbell,” Bernie teases quietly with mock formality. She grins behind her mask and shares a knowing look with the scrub nurse. Bernie knows Lou will never breathe a word.

And when they are home, when it is all over, Bernie curls up next to Serena beneath the duvet. Their heads are close and Bernie’s hand is gently resting on Serena’s hip.

“Say it again,” she whispers into Serena’s ear, for Bernie loves to hear Serena speak.

Serena smiles and says it softly, just as Bernie closes her eyes.

“I love you, my darling.”

 

 


	5. I've Missed You

Serena stays on the ward long after Bernie mutters that she is going to Albie’s. She sits at the nurses station, subtly watching Bernie gather her things and pulling on her coat. As Bernie exits the office their eyes catch briefly and Serena looks away to the computer screen. She slowly changes all of her administrative duties to “Teaching.” **  
**

Two hours after Bernie clocked off, Serena returns to the office, gently places Elinor’s folder in her bag, and leaves. The drive home is short, and she remembers how much longer the walk home had been. Her grief makes her do strange things; walking home, being cruel to junior doctors, not drinking a drop, pushing Bernie away.

Serena had not opened a bottle of shiraz since Elinor’s death. Numbing the pain had seemed like an escape, a way to forget. Serena did not want to forget. But when the front door is closed and Serena is finally standing in her own kitchen she feels out of place, lost and cold, like something is missing. Jason is asleep and recovering upstairs, his dishes neatly stacked and drying by the sink. Her heart lurches and she suddenly does not want to be there any more. She wants Bernie.

She dashes down a note and leaves it on the fridge, returns to the car, and drives to Bernie’s flat.

She pushes the buzzer, then waits, letting the sharp night air sink into her skin, prickling her fingers. Bernie opens the door still wearing the striped shirt from earlier, and Serena feels sad at the surprise written across Bernie’s face. She walks in wordlessly after Bernie welcomes her softly.

“Go through.”

The flat is small, minimalist, and entirely Bernie. The only decorations are a set of portraits of Charlotte and Cameron, and a succulent on the coffee table. The plant was a christmas gift from Serena, and she had jokingly said that even Bernie couldn’t kill a cactus. Serena feels a little better at the sight of it, still delicately small and green and living.

Serena moves to sit on the futon next to the coffee table, collapses and slowly takes off her coat. She feels Bernie take it from her, but does not turn her head as Bernie hangs it up next to her own on the hook by the door. Instead she looks at the little plant, and feels as if the gift was given a lifetime ago.

Bernie sits down beside her, close but not touching, and Serena feels a little less lost. Her grief is so heavy that it weighs her down. It’s hard to move, and she feels hunched over with it, as if she is an old woman with kyphosis, her back rounded and bearing the load of sorrow. It is hard to see through the fog of grief, hard to keep living. She doubts she’ll ever find the answers, through faith or science. Some things cannot be explained.

Serena knows in her heart that she will live, she will survive, she will eventually be alright again. In time the weight will lessen, grow lighter with each passing day, until the morning she can walk with her back tall once more. But the grief will always be there, lingering.  

Serena had always been alone.

Edward had never been a true partner, and in the end he had left her for someone younger. Her mother had faded away in front of her, until they were strangers to each other. Adrienne’s death had been a relief, an ending Serena had longed for in the months before. Then, a sister, and then Jason. Beautiful, maddening, wonderful Jason.  

Through all of this she had been alone. And so, when someone reached out Serena had a hard time meeting them halfway, returning the gesture and accepting help. So much of her professional and personal life had been conducted in solitude. How strange, to have a true equal there by her side.

Bernie was a soldier, a trauma specialist, a strong and hard woman. But this morning Serena had thought Bernie looked soft, almost delicate, fragile. The sunlight had streamed through their office window, and Bernie’s hair had looked gentle, the skin of her cheek warm, her face so full of _something_.

Bernie had said “I’ve missed you.”

That old Churchill quote echoes in Serena’s brain, “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Serena is trying so very hard to keep going. But she does not have to go the way alone. She reaches out in apology, takes Bernie’s hand, pulls her close until they are pressed together with Serena’s head on Bernie’s shoulder. Serena closes her eyes as Bernie begins to stroke her fingers through her hair. She feels warm, and a little lighter.

“I missed you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wish that Serena had said she missed Bernie too. I don't know man.


	6. Space

 

An operating theatre is a rather small space. Heads are hovered together over the sterile field, the lights are dim, and hands often brush up against each other in the cavity. It is a confined area, packed with juniors who are anxious to please, scrub nurses ready with the sutures, consultants with their egos. One cannot help but rub elbows.

A trauma bay is the same. Or at least Serena tells herself it is the same. She tells herself it is absolutely necessary for her to stand that close behind Bernie, so close that her breath disturbs the stray hair at the nape of Bernie’s neck. The unit is busy, and their voices are raised and barking orders over the commotion of a trauma. They have gloves on their hands, and smocks over their clothes. But Serena takes a moment to breathe in Bernie, to smell the scent of soap lingering from this morning’s shower. Serena soaks in Bernie’s warmth that she feels for a moment when her breasts accidentally graze Bernie’s back. She resists the urge to trace the skin of Bernie’s exposed neck.

Serena loves it when Bernie’s hair is up. When they are home and Bernie is washing the dishes she places her hair in a loose bun, with her fringe tucked behind her ears. Serena loves to come up behind her and place her arms around Bernie’s waist, letting her chin settle against the middle of Bernie’s shoulder-blades. Bernie continues the washing up with Serena tucked behind her, until all the plates are on the drying rack.

“Cruel,” Bernie mutters with a smile. “I know what you’re doing. Distracting me from my girlfriend duties.”

Then, she spins, and brings up Serena’s arms from her waist to wrap around her shoulders. Sometimes they will kiss, there in the kitchen with the wine still uncorked and the candles still burning.

Other times Bernie just holds her, with their foreheads resting against one another. On these nights Serena will lie awake, long after Bernie has started lightly snoring. Bernie often sleeps naked with her face buried in a pillow and her golden hair splayed out in all directions, always with one hand reaching out towards Serena. When she cannot sleep, Serena will gaze at Bernie’s skin in the moonlight. She traces a path across Bernie’s neck, all the way down to the small of her back. Serena loves Bernie’s back. She loves the muscles and the sinewy feeling beneath her fingertips. She loves the strength, the bumpy spine, the subtle curve of Bernie’s waist.

Serena will finally let slumber take her when she lays down fully next to Bernie and places her palm on the center of Bernie’s back. She is lulled to sleep by the rhythm of Bernie’s breathing; the rise and fall of Bernie's lungs beneath her hand, the endearing sound of her snoring.

Serena was always a tactile person. She reassures with a hand on a forearm, communicates sympathy with a squeeze of the shoulder, guide’s a junior’s hands in theatre with her own. And so she stands close to Bernie, so that there is no space between them.

When Bernie was in Ukraine there was a tightness in Serena's chest, an ever present ache. The tightness fades at their nearness, at Serena standing close to Bernie. But the hollow feeling lingers, meanders to her heart, and plays tricks in her brain. So she holds Bernie’s hand in the rear of cabs, traces the skin of Bernie’s back in the wee hours, stands close to her in the trauma bay.

She lays in bed, still warm beneath the duvet, and watches Bernie get out of the shower and brush her hair. Her movements are slow, still heavy with drowsiness, her mind not quite clear of the fogginess of sleep. Serena loves to watch Bernie in the morning, and her love renders the little bedroom a quiet realm of just the two of them. An everywhere, a universe, their world made in the quiet movements of the dawn. All of the love in the little world, there in the space between them.

 

 

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,

Which watch not one another out of fear;

For love, all love of other sights controls,

And makes one little room an everywhere.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem excerpt is from The Good-Morrow by John Donne


	7. The Mister Magoo Look

 

 

Serena needs glasses.

Bernie has caught her squinting several times. In the morning, Serena clutches patient charts close while sitting at her desk in their office. In the afternoon she leans near to the computer screen at the nurse’s station. In the evening, when she is sitting perched up in bed beside Bernie, she frowns down at the ipad in her lap.

“You may need glasses, Serena,” Bernie suggests gently.

“Nonsense,” Serena says curtly, as she brings the ipad ever closer to her nose.

But vascular surgeons must be able to see, and the next day Serena comes into the office a little late, with a white plastic bag dangling around her wrist. Bernie watches her set the bag down on the floor. Serena looks up at her with a grin, and then, with a dramatic flourish, takes out a small leather glasses case.

Serena gracefully places the glasses on her face and turns to Bernie.

“What do you think?”

The glasses have a thick black frame, and before Bernie can stop herself, she says it.

“You look like Mister Magoo.”

“I do not!” Serena says indignantly. She hastily returns to her bag, rummaging for a compact mirror. She holds the small mirror in front of her face and examines her reflection.

Bernie swallows, and waits.

“Oh my god, Bernie,” Serena gasps softly. “I look like Mister Magoo.”

“You look fine,” Bernie says quickly.

“Fine?”

Serena’s tone is sharp, and the eyes tucked behind those large frames are blazing.

“Er.. I mean lovely,” Bernie swallows.

Serena frowns and places the mirror back in her purse. “Well, I have a followup appointment in three days,” she huffs. “I guess they’ll have to do until then.”

“It’ll be fine, Serena,” Bernie says softly. She rises and comes to sit in the visitor’s chair next to Serena’s desk. She takes Serena’s left hand and gently squeezes. Her thumb strokes over Serena’s knuckles. “At least you’ll be able to see better now. I’m sure everything will work out.”

Things do not work out.

Fletch peers through the open blinds in the office window and sees Serena in the glasses.

“What’s new, Mister Magoo?”

His voice is almost certainly heard by the entire ward and Serena becomes Nuremburgy Campbell for a little while. Screamy Shouty Lady returns.

But she rallies, performs miraculous surgery and returns to the ward triumphant, with the glasses resting on top of her nose. Then, she hears Raf murmur in the corner.

"Oh Magoo, you've done it again!"

Serena sees red, but Bernie quickly intervenes and distracts her with an interesting case. They spend the rest of their shift in theatre, sparring easily through an arterial repair. But when they are packing up in their office, Serena  begins to look around frantically. She opens the desk drawers, disturbs piles of papers, and lifts the computer keyboard.

“Bernie… I can’t find my glasses!”

Bernie looks up and holds back a snort when she sees the glasses perched forgotten on Serena’s head. The frames push Serena’s hair back slightly, and she looks soft in the early evening light. Bernie clears her throat and Serena looks over at her.

She points to her head and Serena’s hand flies up to her hair. Bernie smiles as Serena sighs in relief.

“It’s going to be a long three days, isn’t it,” Serena murmurs, as she puts the glasses in their case.

“It will be alright Serena,” she says in sympathy as they make their way down the corridor. She wraps her arm around Serena’s shoulders.

“And just think, you have three days to plan your revenge on Raf and Fletch.”

Serena smiles and begins to plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this chapter. But I should not write when I'm tired. Because this is the result.


	8. Old Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Old Friends" by Paul Simon

 

They are old friends, even though they only met a year ago.

Serena thinks they must look like old friends, sitting next to each other on a couch in Albie’s with their staff surrounding them. It is a shining, golden bubble of laughter. Morven and Jasmine are pressed together and giggling. Fletch and Raf are arguing over a bet by the bar, and Henrik is sat on the chair in the corner, earnestly discussing something with Sasha.

The sounds of the evening sift through Serena’s senses. The din is a little hazy from the wine, the lights are a little fuzzy, and Bernie’s face is a little too close for just old friends. Serena turns to talk to Jac and then smiles as Bernie’s hand moves to rest on her thigh.

She is momentarily distracted by the feeling, and quickly looks away from the conversation. She glances down at Bernie’s graceful fingers curled around her left knee. Then, after a moment, back up to Jac. They are discussing some new equipment, or new procedure? Serena nods and takes another sip of wine, hums along and smiles when Jac stands to leave after a few minutes.

Serena turns slightly to look at Bernie, who is thick as thieves with Dom. She smiles at Bernie’s grin, and leans forward to listen to the conversation. Dom looks at her, smiles and continues. He’s got a new boyfriend and his face is all lit up with the excitement of new romance. His name is James and he’s a music teacher and they went on a date to a karaoke bar last night. Lots of showtune duets, apparently. It seems to be going well.

Serena’s chest aches a little bit at the joy in his voice, and she moves her left hand to gently rest above Bernie’s. She feels Bernie squeeze her knee in reassurance.

Healing always seems to take so long. But here they are, all together and well once more.

Serena can imagine her and Bernie years from now, sitting on a park bench, two old friends. Or perhaps they are sitting on a rock overlooking the Highlands. Bernie keeps threatening to take her on a walking holiday in Scotland. Bernie has always liked the mountains, and feels drawn to the quiet and the stillness of the hills. But Serena likes to chatter, and she loves the rush of city streets, the shops and the people walking quickly on by. So perhaps they’ll be sitting in a cafe in Paris, sipping coffee and eating medicinal croissants.

Or perhaps, they’ll be sitting right here, in Albie’s, years and years from now.

Serena shakes her head. Her mind is a little distracted and weary from the day. Her head is heavy and she feels happy at the thought of Bernie with her for years and years. Her heart is steady and feels strong. She’s ready to go home now.

When Dom excuses himself and walks over to the bar, Serena leans closer to Bernie and whispers lovingly in her ear.

“Take me home now.”

Bernie shivers at Serena’s breath on her neck and silently nods.

They rise together, saying goodnight to everyone, waving and slowly meandering out the door.

It is dark and drizzling and the springtime air is chilly. Bernie pulls her close as they walk out into the rain-drenched streets. They walk closely together under Serena’s large, black umbrella, carefully avoiding the puddles in the dips of pavement. Large drops of rain collect on the edges of the umbrella, and they stream across the fabric and pour down by Serena’s right shoulder. So she huddles closer, sighing as Bernie wraps an arm around her. Serena feels a little warmer and does not move away until they reach the car.

They settle in, with the overhead lamp shining down as Bernie turns on the radio. Something soft plays, with slow trumpets and an alto’s voice, full and deep.  The wet umbrella is tucked away by Serena’s feet and she reaches out to rest her hand on Bernie’s thigh.

Bernie looks up at her and Serena sighs.

“You’re my best friend,” she murmurs.  

Bernie smiles and leans forward, and Serena feels Bernie cup her face with a palm. She nuzzles into it, and after feeling how cold Bernie’s hand is, turns and kisses the chilled skin.

“You’re my best friend too,” Bernie says.

Serena smiles and leans over the console, kissing Bernie softly on the lips. She hums against Bernie’s mouth, and smiles as Bernie moans. But they separate, and Serena sits back in the passenger’s seat.

“Home?” Bernie asks. Her face is slightly flushed, and her hair is a little wild from Serena’s grasping hands.

“Home,” Serena agrees.

Bernie looks away with a gentle smile on her lips, and starts the engine. 

Serena thinks it strange, that happiness always seems to sneak up on her. Reminders creep in and ambush, just when she thought things were perfect. Just when things seem golden and shining and lovely, Bernie places a hand on her knee in Albie's. And the world tilts, is somehow impossibly brighter and warmer, with the rain wandering down the windscreen, and Serena going home with her old friend and lover, her best friend. Her partner.

  
Bernie drives with Serena’s hand on her thigh the whole way home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a little sad from that episode. :/


	9. Soft

Sometimes, it is difficult to be soft. Especially when grief makes everything else  hard. Her body feels stiff with the aching, and her hands are made into fists as she somehow gets through every day. “It’s so hard,” she says to Bernie in the office. Bernie holds her hand in comfort. But holding hands in public is still hard, and they quickly let go when Jasmine comes in.

Serena’s heart is brittle, and she feels it break again and again, shattering into shards with razor edges that cut. She feels her heart flutter when she sees Evie behind the curtain, young and clever and so very earnest. Evie’s sutures are a little crooked, a little rushed. “Slowly wins the race,” Serena says gently, trying to be nurturing, trying to be kind.

Susie Mitchell is a smug cow who likes stirring it up, and Evie just needs something that will fit properly.

“I’ll take you bra shopping, if you like,” Serena hears herself saying.

“Would you?”

Evie’s eyes are large and anxious and her smile is so wide that Serena cannot help but smile back.

“Of course.”

That night, before she leaves the hospital, she texts Elinor goodnight. It helps.

Serena wanders through a bra shop on a Saturday afternoon. She gives Evie space, letting her explore different sections of the shop, different styles and patterns. The fitting that Serena scheduled goes well, and Evie gathers a few bras in the right size and tries them on, disappearing once more behind a curtain. Serena smiles gently and murmurs that she’ll be close by, in case Evie needs anything.

She checks her phone, sending a quick text to Bernie.

_Things going well here, hope your shift is not too busy. X_

Then, she looks up and sees a beautiful bra with white lace, simple and elegant. It’s delicate and lovely and she knows Bernie will love it. So she tries it on in the cubicle next to Evie and buys it. When they leave, they walk side by side down the road, and Evie swings the shopping bag back and forth, chattering away about school, her friends, her brothers, about Raf and Fletch’s domestics.

Serena listens and laughs, letting herself be happy in the moment. Her own shopping bag is tucked away in the boot of the car, and she smiles in anticipation.

When she gets home she cooks Bernie’s favorite meal. She puts on quiet music, and sways as she cooks. The candles on the kitchen table flicker, and she puts on a new coat of mascara, a touch-up of lipstick. She chooses a white blouse that Bernie likes, one with small gold buttons and a classically tailored collar. She undoes the top three buttons, letting a hint of the white lace show.

Bernie comes home from her shift, weary and hungry, but her face lights up at the sight of Serena in the kitchen. She is still wearing her apron, and when she turns from the stove to give Bernie a kiss on the cheek, she sees Bernie looking. Bernie’s eyes linger and Serena blushes. They eat quickly and let the dishes soak in the sink.

Bernie takes Serena upstairs and pulls her close, taking her time on each button, somehow still fascinated by the slow unveiling. When Serena’s shirt is hanging completely open and forgotten, Bernie traces the lacy fabric. Bernie explores both cups, then a strap, and then slowly caresses Serena’s neck. She leans down to kiss the valley between Serena’s breasts and Serena nearly cries when Bernie murmurs onto her skin.

“You’re so soft.”

Serena knows she isn’t. She’s hard and brittle and so very lost. But Bernie’s lips are on her lips, and she feels herself unraveling. She feels herself grow warm and fill to the brim with that feeling. That sensation of hot tea on a cold and rainy afternoon, or the warmth of sunshine on bare shoulders, that tenderness she feels on the days she wakes up to the sight of Bernie asleep next to her.  

She feels a little warmer, a little lighter, and she lets herself smile. Serena pulls Bernie to the bed and down on top of her, and they tangle together in the Egyptian cotton sheets. For the first time in a long while, Serena feels the hardness fall away, melting like the frost in springtime. She lets herself be smooth and not jagged, kind and nurturing instead of all the things she feels herself sometimes becoming. She lets herself be gentle and open, and for a time, she feels herself come back.

She lets herself be soft. 


	10. Teach me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from ktlsyrtis: Berena- "Teach me?" 
> 
> Thank you!

 

Sometimes Bernie is envious of Serena. **  
**

She is envious of Serena’s ease with other people, her ability to nurture, and to understand exactly what a patient needs. Whether it is a firm word or a gentle hand, Serena always does it with an effortless grace.

Bernie is envious of Serena’s kindness and the way she talks to Charlotte, as if Serena was always there. As if Serena has always been Charlotte’s confidant, a safe haven full to the brim with secrets and girlish laughter.

Most of all, Bernie is envious of Serena’s lightness. Serena had been kissed by Bernie, had murmured “Serena Campbell, lesbian,” and that was that. No years of loneliness, no marriage of quiet desperation. No infinite sadness.

Bernie remembers an art history lesson in secondary school when she had cradled a large textbook on her lap, and had slowly turned the pages with her fingers, gliding her hands across the prints. Her heart had ached when she turned a page and saw two women in a bed together. The title was written on the bottom in italics. _La Chute du Chat_.

The women were lying in bed, white shoulders bared in the sunlight that filtered through the window high above their heads. A hat box was tucked away on a shelf, and a small painting hung on the wall. The casual intimacy of the women was frightening, and yet comforting. Bernie traced the page with her fingertips, lingering on the dresses hanging off the end of the bed, drifting across the painted shadows.

Looking at that painting was the first time Bernie did not feel entirely alone. _There are people like me,_ she thought _. There have always been people like me._

They were hidden in stories, or were rewritten and disappeared for the history books. They were captured in paintings, described in hidden meanings of words, seen in opaque layers of public meetings when their hands could innocently touch in greeting. They were always there. But Bernie was afraid of being seen and married Marcus, allowing herself to disappear too. She dragged that secret part of her everywhere, and was heavy with it.

For Serena it is easier. She takes Bernie to Pride and has glitter around her eyes and is wearing a rainbow feather boa. Her smile is wide and she sings and laughs and is so very light. Serena is so full of lightness that Bernie fears she will lift off from the pavement and fly away into the sky above the parade. Bernie is envious of this too. Bernie always has one foot on the ground.

She wants to turn to Serena and say _“Teach me?”_

She wants to shout. _“Show me how to feel light. Teach me to shine, to have that lightness of being. Help me!_

But she doesn’t say these things. Instead, she reaches for Serena’s hand and allows herself to be pulled along with the crowd. She watches Serena and smiles, loves Serena for her own journey. And in loving Serena, Bernie lets herself be seen, and feels a little lighter.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe I'm never writing angst ever again? EEEE!!!


	11. Unsteady

 

Bernie sits in her parked car with the windows down, letting the August breeze sweep in and out. She had worked a long night shift, and the red phone had rung twice. Her bones ache and when she had slumped down into the driver’s seat ten minutes ago she’d found she did not have the energy to drive just yet. **  
**

The sun is shining down on the hospital carpark and the car is warm, so Bernie lets her head loll back against the headrest. She closes her eyes and listens to the birds sing their morning song, content to sit for a little while.

Serena has been gone five months.

It’s been hard. Serena skypes when she has wifi, phones when she has service, and writes letters when she has neither. Sometimes it is just a postcard, the script slanted and hurried but always ending with an “x”. Bernie keeps them in a pile in her desk at home, carefully tucked away in a drawer. The postcards are from all kinds of places. Here, there, and everywhere. Any place that isn’t Holby City.

Serena is getting better, Bernie thinks. She can hear it in her voice on the phone, see it in her face, despite the fuzzy connection. Her hair is shorter now, and greyer. Bernie longs to run her hands through it, longs to touch Serena’s cheek, hold her hand and kiss her lips. She aches with the longing, and her chest is always a little too tight after Serena hangs up.

Last week, Serena had said she was almost ready to come home. She didn’t say when, but she is slowly making her way back from Greece.

The last few days had felt like all five months put together. The week had been tortuously slow, as if time was dragging its feet. Its why Bernie doesn’t want to go home, doesn’t want to go back to Serena’s big empty house. She’s living there while Serena is gone, and her own dreary flat is all but abandoned. She sleeps in Serena’s bed, uses her bowls for porridge, drinks out of her wine glasses, lounges in her garden. It has been comforting, to smell Serena in the sheets, to see her shampoos and makeup on the marble counters in the bathroom. Every few days Bernie sprays Serena’s forgotten perfume on a pillow- just as she had done for Cameron all those times she went away. 

It’s hard to be without Serena. Harder than Bernie imagined. It’s so quiet in the house without Serena and Jason talking away, without Serena humming as she cooks, without Serena singing to her when they are in the shower. Serena has a lovely voice. Bernie feels all wrapped up in it, the soft velvety vibrato like a warm blanket on her skin.

When Serena was still there the house had felt like a home. Now it feels like a monument to a life no longer being lived. Pictures of Elinor and Serena are everywhere, and silence reigns.

Jason is still at Alan’s, but he spends Friday nights with Bernie. Fish and chips night. They watch World’s Strongest Man and Countdown and Jason sleeps in his own bed for one night before he goes back to Alan’s in the morning.

It was difficult at first, for Jason to understand why Serena had to leave. “No matter where she goes, Elinor will still be dead,” he says with a furrowed brow.

“Yes, but staying wasn’t making her happy,” Bernie explains quietly. It hurt to say it, that Serena wasn’t happy.

It’s terrifying, but Bernie finds herself brave enough to let Serena walk away, hoping against all hope that one day she’ll return. For now, she and Jason have each other, and Jason has taken to calling her Auntie Bernie. It’s lovely, and the aching in her chest lessens a little bit each time he says it.

But today is not Friday, and Jason won’t be at the house. Nothing but ghosts and echoes await her, so Bernie lingers in the carpark and lets herself doze in the warm summer morning. Her eyes are still closed when she hears footsteps approaching. She doesn’t open her eyes, and hopes they continue past the car and into the hospital doors. But the footsteps stop just by the car, and Bernie sighs, preparing to open her eyes.

Then, a voice speaks softly, the tone light and teasing.

“You’re sitting in a parked car, darling. I do hope there’s nothing wrong with the engine?”

Bernie’s eyes fly open and she turns to see Serena standing there, a little tan from the sun, her hair still short with new flecks of silver. Her smile is shining and she is as radiant as the first time they kissed in their office.

Bernie finds she cannot move and just stares, her mouth hanging open slightly.

“Growling or whining, or something like that” Serena murmurs.  “I can’t recall the words exactly. Please forgive me, my love.”

Bernie continues to gape. After all those months apart, all those nights alone, all the shifts at the hospital being referred to as “Lead on AAU” and not “Co-lead.” And here she is, brighter than the sun and real.

_She’s here._

Bernie swallows and hears herself say in a choked up voice, “Funny, you don’t look like a mechanic.”

Bernie watches Serena’s smile fade a little bit, and she seems to be choked up too because all she manages to say is “Bernie-” before her eyes fill with tears and Bernie is reaching for the door and climbing out of the car. Bernie’s legs are like jelly, and she nearly trips in her haste to reach her, and she half-falls, half-collides with Serena.

“Steady, soldier. Steady, I’ve got you,” Serena says through the tears.

Her hands clasp Bernie’s elbows and she holds her up, her fingers tight and comforting around Bernie’s arms. Her voice is so soft, so kind, and gentler than Bernie had heard it in months. Bernie drags Serena to her. She buries her hands in the short hair, kisses and kisses Serena’s lips until Serena moans, her own hands now clinging to Bernie’s shoulders.

Bernie pulls away after the sound and looks into Serena’s eyes. Her breathing is ragged, and she tries to speak.

“I missed you- Serena, I missed you so much.”

Bernie hates the way her voice trembles, breaking like it did that last night on the roof. The night she thought everything was going to come crashing down. She cannot bear it, so she buries her nose into Serena’s neck, closes her eyes and smells her. She no longer smells of cigarettes, but of lavender and soap and that earthy scent that is entirely Serena. She hears Serena whisper.

“I’m back.” Her voice is uncertain and tinged with disbelief.

Bernie takes in a strangled breath. “You’re back,” she says after a moment.  Her voice is still a little unsteady.

Bernie cannot bring herself to untangle her arms. Not yet.

She takes a minute to gather herself, keeps her forehead on Serena’s shoulder, lets one tear fall, and takes in a shuddering breath. Bernie’s heart is going like the clappers, and she is trying so very hard to compose herself from the surprise. Serena always was dramatic. Loves a good entrance.

So Bernie holds fast, tightens her arms around Serena, and kisses the skin of Serena’s neck. Bernie whispers that she loves her and smiles when she hears Serena whisper that she loves her too. She sniffles and nuzzles into Serena’s hair, seeking Serena’s newfound strength, her calmness, and feels her heart begin to slow. They stay like this for a long time, in almost the exact spot where they met, pressed together and breathing in and out. Until Bernie’s heart is steady once more.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks!


	12. Au Revoir- Until We Meet Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to upload this. VERY late bonus chapter, I guess?

They meet halfway.

They hadn’t been in contact since Serena left. Just a hurried farewell kiss on the platform before Serena walked onto the Eurostar and disappeared beneath the sea. Bernie thinks it fitting, that Serena will travel for a long time in the dark, and then, come to the surface in a new country, a new continent.

Perhaps Serena will be a new person when she comes back. If she comes back. Perhaps Bernie won’t recognize Serena upon return. Perhaps Serena will not recognize Bernie. Perhaps Serena won’t want her anymore. _Perhaps…_

These thoughts haunt Bernie, and they echo in her head as she lays in bed at night. Serena is not in bed beside her, and Bernie is perpetually surprised at how quickly she became accustomed to sleeping next to Serena. She misses it, and the thoughts that seem small during the day become looming and vast when the night settles. The chasm of loneliness grows as the day darkens, and Bernie feels alone and frightened at the prospect of Serena never sleeping beside her again.

So when Serena phones the office and simply whispers, “I miss you,” Bernie drives straight to the station after her shift. Ric is understanding and says he will cover for her tomorrow. 

“What is the use of an interim co-lead if you can’t get off work every now and then?” 

Ric says it with an understanding smile. It is a kindness she did not expect, and Bernie feels for the first time that they could be true friends.

“Thank you,” Bernie murmurs as she gathers her things. She leaves quickly, anxious to get the last train.

She buys a coffee from a kiosk but still falls asleep as soon as the train leaves the station. Something in the movement, in the gentle hum of the engine has always comforted her. It reminds her of family holidays when she was small, with large leather suitcases carefully tucked above her head, and her stuffed bear safely clutched in her arms. Bernie smiles at the memory. She wraps her arms around herself, and dreams of long afternoons and sunshine.

…

It is raining in Paris, and Bernie turns up the collar of her trench coat against the bitter Spring cold. She splashes her way across the puddles that have collected in the gaps of the cobblestones, and walks quickly to the little hotel near the Seine. It’s a quiet street, with ancient buildings made of stucco and stone. Blue shutters cover most of the windows, and the dawn is still dusky and dim. 

The room number is scrawled on the back of a hospital memo, quickly written down before they’d disconnect the call. Bernie knows Serena phoned the office because Bernie never checks her mobile She’s truly awful at email. Absolutely hopeless at texting.

Bernie walks through the elegant lobby and straight to the lifts. She presses the golden button and rises three floors. She walks quickly down the corridor, knocks once, and smiles when the door swings open.

Serena is wearing one of those hotel robes and her lips are painted red. She drags Bernie in by the collar of her coat.

…

They stay in bed all day, reacquainting themselves with each other. With the noises and soft sighs. At one point, Serena dips her head inbetween Bernie’s thighs and moans at the taste. Bernie marvels at the feeling of Serena’s skin. She’d forgotten about that one sensitive spot on Serena’s neck. How one bite makes Serena go rigid.

Serena buries her nose in Bernie’s hair, and takes in a shuddering breath.

“I missed the smell of your perfume,” she whispers.

Bernie smiles, and kisses her again.

Afterwards, they lie next to one another, just looking. Bernie tries not to be afraid of the way Serena looks at her. As if Serena is trying to memorize every detail, every freckle and wrinkle. As if it will be the last look for a long time.  But Bernie is tired from traveling and from their lovemaking, and she drifts to sleep in Serena’s arms.

…

Bernie wakes alone.

She rolls over, still naked from the previous day, and is not surprised to see that Serena’s bag is gone. The puffy white robe is gently folded on the chair by the window. Bernie sighs, and slowly sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest. 

She turns and looks at the nightstand. There, sitting next to the lamp, is a coffee and a brown paper bag from the bakery down the lane. A note rests by the cooling cup. It says, “See you soon X, -S.”

Bernie smiles when she opens the bag and sees a pain au chocolat.

 

 


	13. Better

Serena wonders if she will ever feel settled. When will it feel as if things are all in alignment and everything is perfect? No more hiding in France, no more bad dreams, no more grief, no more waiting for Bernie. 

Sudan is what Bernie needs, and Serena is willing to wait. But Bernie is only with her for a few short weeks, and the days drift by in a hazy happiness. It was just a taste, and Serena doesn’t realize how quickly she became accustomed to waking next to Bernie, until the day she wakes up and Bernie is halfway to the middle east.

She lies in bed, unwilling to move. Her lungs feel tight, and there’s a dull ache in her belly. An emptiness that she’s felt for some time. Somedays the emptiness has a name,  _Elinor._  Sometimes it’s not even that, just a strange, wanting feeling. A void she doesn’t know how to fill.

The first few weeks in France, Serena had thought she simply missed work. However, a few calls from Bernie venting about her day made Serena realize it wasn’t work she missed. No, she feels quite content without the long hours and night shifts, the patients with their anxious families wringing their hands.  _Perhaps it’s Jason_ , she thinks, so she rings him more often. His voice is lovely and curious and she talks a little bit, listens mostly. It helps for a while.

She doesn’t want to think it’s Bernie. She’s been selfish enough in their relationship, and she doesn’t want to worry her, doesn’t want Bernie to think she needs to come out here. But when Bernie finally comes Serena still feels it. She feels it when they walk through the vineyard, feels it when Bernie sleeps beside her, feels it when Bernie gets on a train bound for the airport.

Not Bernie then.

Bernie makes her feel warm and loved and safe. With Bernie, Serena feels exquisitely admired, worshiped and respected. Bernie loves her, strong and true, and Serena loves Bernie so bloody much that it frightens her when the strange feeling lingers. She still feels it when Bernie laughs, and tries to hide how frightened she is, by burrowing her face into Bernie’s neck. She takes in a deep breath, smells Bernie’s perfume, and closes her eyes. It helps, but loving someone can’t make her depression go away.

Serena accepts the self diagnosis as she lies in bed the morning after Bernie leaves France. She rises slowly, feeling heavy and worn down, takes a deep breath, and finally puts her feet on the cool wooden floor. France in September is still hot, too hot for coffee. So she drinks a large glass of water while standing over the sink, butters some toast and eats it in the garden with tomatoes and cheese.

That afternoon, she books an appointment to see a therapist.

…

In October, Serena is somewhere in between. She’s getting there. Recovery doesn’t have a finish line, because there is no endpoint, and things may never really be settled or aligned. It’s exhausting to think she will always be like this, always fighting the darkness, the grief and sorrow. It will always be there in the shadows, all her life long.

But the sun always rises, and shadows are a part of us, the way anything is. Serena is just stepping into the light again, after almost a year. There’s possibility in every morning, a new beginning in every sunrise, and she’s trying to take it one day at a time.

She has bad days. The lows are extreme and taxing and it sometimes takes a few days to recover. She has long days of walking the property or simply staring out windows, washing her face and forcing herself to eat. Sometimes she just sleeps all day. The good days elude her for a while after a bad day, but she waits, and the sun always rises.

The night Elinor died she thought the sun would never rise. But it did, as it always does. Serena is still here, sometimes faking a smile, until she hears Bernie laugh on the phone. Serena laughs too, smiles so wide it hurts her face, and knows in her heart that a good day is just around the corner. She feels more awake every day, kinder and braver, and more beautiful every time she hears Jason’s voice telling her he loves her.

She rises every morning, sleeps in only rarely, drinks shiraz a little less. She nervously tells Bernie during one of their too-short phone calls that she’s seeing a therapist. Serena hears Bernie’s breath hitch, and she waits for a moment, until Bernie’s voice travels all the way from Sudan, just to reach her ears.

“I’m really proud of you, Serena.”

Bernie’s voice is so soft and delicate that Serena has to close her eyes. She imagines that Bernie is here, standing next to her, as she tells her this  _thing_. This thing she’s wanted to tell her for weeks.  _I’m trying, I’m trying so hard._

Bernie hears her.

Serena sniffles, and has to fight back tears. It doesn’t do to cry on long distance.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice a little teary. She hangs up a minute later, feeling brave and honest and relieved.

Serena sleeps hard that night, and dreams of Bernie wrapped around her.

…

Months later, Bernie is coming back. Serena rushes around the cottage, cleaning and cooking, and rummaging for the few clothes Bernie had left here during the summer. It’s November, and the vineyard is cooler. The harvest had finished in October, and the valley is slowly transitioning for Christmas. It’s a lovely, warm time, and Serena feels cheery just thinking about Bernie being here for the holiday. 

Jason is coming too, and Serena has convinced Charlotte and Cameron to join him. A Christmas surprise.

It’s a secret the four of them will keep until the second week of December, and Serena is anxiously hoping it will last that long. Jason is notorious with secrets, bless him.

The dinner is almost done and the sun has already set and the house is warm and filled with firelight. Candles on the table, wine uncorked, and the fire crackling in the fireplace. Serena sighs and thinks that everything is nearly perfect, almost all aligned and settled. She feels alive and happy, and a little better. 

Serena smiles when she hears Bernie’s footsteps, walking up the path to their front door.


End file.
